


Deck of Hearts

by Ludwigsgirl97



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwigsgirl97/pseuds/Ludwigsgirl97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Card!verse<br/>The Roman hearts have taken over the Mediteranian Clubs, and when Francis tries to stand up to his grandfather, he gets banished, only to meet the mysterious foreighner, the Joker of Comedy. For some reason, he's not very funny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All that's waiting is regret

The lashes fell on the former Jack of Hearts, his hands above his head, which hung low in defeat as he cried out into the eternal spring of the Land of Hearts. His blond hair, long and once shining, was now dull and stained pink with fine, misted blood. Tears crusted dirt onto his once admired face, and his grandfather stood above him, the Ace, Romulus, a look of disapproval the only sign that he had ever cared for the man at all.

“Have you anything to say, Francis, before you're exiled?” He asked, once the hundred lashings were done with. He raised his head, and smiled.

“You'll never get away with what you've done to Akantha. You'll be stopped, father.” He spat, clenching his fists in a show of mock bravery. 

“An hundred more lashes, and then we'll send you back to Folkheirt to see if he still wants his bastard.” He said, walking away muttering about the blood that was on his favorite silk toga. 

Francis passed out shortly after, cursing the world around him. He was now without a purpose, and the magic would clean him up sooner or later. He was once the Jack of Hearts, in line to rule the quarter, and, if he had gone along with the plans, the Diamond quarter as well, ruled by Akantha, and her kin. He'd played with the Jack, Herecles, more times than he could remember, and then his grandfather had enslaved them all; he killed them, and instated his own kin in their places. And the magic hadn't stopped him. No the magic didn't care as long as it retained sacrifice, and every role was filled. But bastards that were banished, they were cleaned up. They tended to disappear. 

When he woke up, it was to the sound of birds chirping above him, but snow below. He was at the border into the country of Spades, those who had requested his help, on the condition that he not expect the same. He'd known that this would happen, and yet, it seemed much graver when he was faced with death in the immediate, rather than distant future. That's what he got for his mixed blood. Half German, and half Roman, he was a misfit no matter where he went, and now he would die for his treason. And the worst part is that he hadn't even made a difference. He tried to kill Romulus, so that Herecles would have a claim to the throne, if a small one. It would free the Diamond quarter, and keep the hot-tempered Romano from reaching it. That or the idiot brother of his, who was now replacing his from being the ten. Insignificant, often unfilled, but a role that the magic would leave be in most cases, if fed enough. 

He stood, his back still hurting in spite of how much faster those with roles healed as opposed to the fillers. The soldiers, the shop keepers, the ones that didn't have cards. Those who would be sacrificed to the magic. His sword was still at his hip, but he felt too weak to use it. So he simply wandered, choosing the warmer side of things, rather than the snow. He would be attacked on sight either way. With no card on his chest, he would be mistaken by his blond hair in the Hearts, an his voice in the Spades. He hoped to find his way to the castle of Clubs, where the ace, Yao, tried to stay away from conflicts. Not because he wasn't violent, but because he had to keep his own affairs in order, and didn't see any reason to get involved in others. He was rumored to be in need of a minor role, and Francis hoped that he would be allowed in for the sake of someone to look pretty, if nothing else. Perhaps something that his twins, Yong and Yang, would stop fighting about and share. 

“You shouldn't walk around Clubs territory with your hair so obvious. They'll kill you. If you want to blend in, head to Spades.” A voice rang out, and a teenage boy in a green cloak jumped down from a tree, falling supernaturally slow. He must have been who the magic sent to take care of him.  
“Well if I go there, they'll kill me too.” He said, drawing the blade for what it was worth.

“Come on, then, I'm not here to kill you. You've got a role, after all.” He said, frowning, and not reacting to the weapon at all.  
“What are you talking about?” He asked, knowing for certain that his role as Jack had been given to Feliciano.

“You're a Joker now, you bloody twit. Can't you feel the magic yet?” He asked putting his hands on his hips and moving his cloak at the same time, revealing a black face with red expression smiling. “You're the tragic Joker, though I don't see what's so bad about your life. You were a prince, and now you're a magician. You grew up easy.” He said, “And my father died so that you would have that role.”

“What? The magic doesn't kill for roles. It leaves them be.” Francis said, looking down and realizing that he had a crying face of red and black, rather than the opposite. He'd never heard of anyone having more than one role before, much less being exiled only to have another role given right after. Especially one so important as the Joker. 

“The Magic didn't kill him, but he did die. Only a month ago, he was run through by one of the Hearts, and then you show up. I don't know if it's coincidence or fate, but you'll do him justice, understand?”  
“What's your name? I can't tell which quarter you came from.” He said, following the stranger as he moved to walk away. 

“Arthur. And that's because I'm from one of these quarters.” He answered, chanting a few words before he was floating back up into the tree, his cloak letting him blend in. Francis desperately climbed up after him, hopping from limb to limb as best he could, though some of them were more difficult than others. He had a feeling that the other's magic was helping him, since he'd not said any spells.

“There are others? I've never heard of them.”

“They don't exist anymore, git. Your magic destroyed them. Where I came from there was only black and white, with kings of each. I was the white rook, my father the king. There was another where there was black and red, but no one was born with special distinction. You could earn it through battle, but loosing could have it taken from you. Those are the only ones I'd ever known until I was spirited away to this accursed place.” 

“I'm sorry.” He said, stopping when the other did.

“For what?” He asked, wondering if the idiot had already screwed up.

“For what's happened to you. It really is far more tragic than my story.” 

“Don't. The magic chooses on the future, not the past. You'll probably die soon. I won't bother saving you.” he said, not meeting blue eyes with his own forest green, nearly glowing with their brightness. He had to hate this man. He was destined to die, after all. No sense getting attached.

 

Ludwig sat in his throne to the left of his brother, sighing. He was laughing in that annoying, high-pitched cackle of his to his wife, Elizabeta, and neither of them were amused at his series of raunchy jokes. He wondered why their father and Ace had chosen the albino to be King, with him being only the Jack. He was clearly a better ruler, after all. Plus, the Jack's chair was far too small for him, and Gilbert was far to small for the King's throne. 

“Brother, no one thinks it's funny.” Ludwig told the smaller elder, unable to take anymore. 

“Who's king, Ludi? Me. Which means that I'm better than you. My awesome jokes are always funny.” He argued, his bird even remaining silent. It was a chicken cursed never to grow, so it remained minute, but learned to fly, in spite of the apparent impossibility associated. 

“The only thing better about you is your birth order. You know that as well as I do. You goof off, and leave me to do your job anyway.” He said, wishing the battle would just hurry up. The yearly battle where the four quarters got an army and fought, usually with no winner, as a sacrifice to The Magic. Last year's had been brutal, with Hearts having Clubs forcibly under their control, but with it being force, many of their soldiers had fled, or surrendered, not really caring who won, because they would loose regardless. 

“Well, we'll see. When I take Romulus' head in The Battle, I'll prove that I deserved this throne more than you, won't I?” His tone of voice meant that the conversation was over. Being the King's brother, and the Jack, got him some sway, but he could still be hanged for treason, and his father didn't seem to care enough to stop the noose. 

So Ludwig sat the rest of the day in annoyed silence, and the Queen faked a smile at each of the bad jokes. She had to. She was only the Queen because Gilbert had chosen her from among the sacrifices, and if she displeased him, she would be given the painful rite of being The Ritual. Tortured to death as the magic fed on her life for the entire year until the next Battle. He sighed, wishing that his father had been smarter about his choice, rather than just presuming the eldest would be the best.

 

What am I gonna do? Feliciano thought, rocking back and forth on his new bed in the castle. He was the Jack now, in line for the throne, and completely and utterly terrified. As a Ten, he'd never had to join in the Battle. He wasn't able to grab glory, but he was safe and he could just paint and think like he loved to do. He'd had to clean the place up, but it was alright because he hated fighting. Now he would be expected to meet the scary Jack of Spades, Ludwig, on the field of battle and he knew that it would be a death sentence for him. 

And he missed his big brother. Francis may have been a bit of a pervert, and sometimes didn't seem to care, but whenever he went to the elder and asked for help it was always responded to. Even if he couldn't solve the problems he would spends weeks at a time trying, just because he hated to see those around him in pain. It was why he rebelled. Because he couldn't watch even those he had been raised to hate as enemies suffer. They were family now, after all, since their brother Antonio married in and became King of Clubs.

He'd cried more than the blond as those lashes fell, wishing that his grandfather would at least look like he felt something as he tortured his own flesh and blood, leaving his back a blood-soaked mess of gooey flesh and exposed bone. Then he left him for the magic to take, knowing that it would do far worse to someone who was left without a role. He would become a Sacrifice, but he wouldn't even get the happiness of knowing he had saved someone's life, or the celebrations, because he wouldn't last the whole year, and another would still have to be given.

Still, he practiced, his twin brother, Romano trying desperately to teach him before he was to bout with the Jack, so that he would at least be able to bring honor in his death. He wondered who it would be who replaced him when he was gone, now that they were so low on siblings. He hoped that it would be someone who was kind, and not one who would look down at those he was supposed to love and cause them pain. He'd seen enough of that for one day.


	2. Learned to Live Half Alive

“Come on, you bloody twit! I won't keep waiting around for you.” Arthur shouted, pinching the bridge of his nose as Francis fought with a bear. Apparently this was supposed to just be a trivial thing that was to either be dealt with quickly or ignored. It had only been a couple weeks since he'd found the joker's crest on his tunic, and now he was expected to have mastered magic already. He heard the sucking of teeth as he finally felled the beast with his sword, nearly cutting it's head clean off, but not having used any of his new abilities.  
“For the last time, I can't use magic!” He shouted, running after the man who was supposed to be his “mentor” even though he mostly just left him to get hurt and then jumped away, not even bothering to teach him the spell he used for that. Luckily, he'd learned by ear, but he was hardly supposed to be a master when the other was obviously trying to get him killed.  
“Then you should die and leave the position open for someone who's not a complete idiot.” He spat back, nothing but venom, as usual. Francis was tired of it.  
“Me dying won't bring your father back, Arthur. You'll just get someone else you can compare him to and hate.” He said, grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders and turning him around. This was going to be settled one way or another right now.  
“What do you know? I just don't like you! Don't think you're so special that I would even think of comparing you to him.” his green eyes were like emerald swords as they tried to cut into the Hearts native.  
“Why? What do you not like about me?”  
“Your hair is too long, and you care about your appearance too much. You're always looking at roses, or trees, or birds, rather than feeling them. You should be able to feel the magic around you by now, but instead, you shut it out. You're an idiot, a fanciful, blundering fool who thinks he's more important than he is.” he explained, clicking his fingers and teleporting to behind the taller male.  
“Why didn't you tell me that before? I thought that you were supposed to be teaching me!” That would have been nice to know before hand, Francis thought. He thought he was going mad when the trees started talking to him.  
“Oh, that's nice. This, sadly, isn't the face of someone who cares. Get a move on, and stop trying to be my friend. You're going to die soon anyway.”  
“You don't know that. Maybe I'll just become very sad. My story just has to be tragic, no?”  
“I don't want to be expected to comfort you in your blubbering either.”  
“Maybe you die, and that's what makes me sad?”  
“Then why would you want to be friends with me. Then you'll meet tragedy. You really are daft, aren't you?”  
“Maybe, just maybe, I think that having a friend and loosing him is better than being alone. I mean, the fairies are all well and good, Arthur, but sooner or later you'll have to get to know people.”  
“I don't see why. You all appear to be fools and pretenders as far as I can see. But we need to keep moving. I've seen what happens when one of the suits gets a hold of a Joker, and it isn't pretty. I'd rather not repeat the experience.”  
“What happened?”  
“The Clubs thought that they could harness my magic...use it to take over the others. It took my father four days to find me.” As he spoke, he removed his cloak, and then his tunic. Scars marred his pale skin, his body lithe, and giving the appearance of being too thin.  
Some of them were wide, as if they'd cut chunks out, while others were raised and white, forming symbols he'd never seen before. His expression went from curious to horrified, and then to a scowl.  
“I'm sorry. I didn't-”  
“That's the problem. You know nothing.” He looked as if he expected to be struck as he pulled the rough cloth back onto himself, and started running. Francis trotted behind, his long legs allowing him to keep up though he chose to do so far enough back that he wasn't bothering the other joker. He obviously needed his space, and for once, Francis could hear the trees speaking words which he understood, rather than just hearing them mumbling. He enjoyed it, and wondered if soon he would get to see Arthur's fairies.

 

* * *

 

 

Ludwig walked into the heart castle, his head held high. Even though in three months they would be trying their best to kill each other, they were to play friend until then. He was eager to meet his new opponent, hoping that it would be someone worthy of battling, one who would bring him honor in defeat or victory. He didn't meet him at the banquet as he expected, or in a surprise bout to get to know each other's skills as he'd hoped, but because he thought he heard a maiden crying, and, even in enemy territory, he felt the need to rescue her from her tormentors.  
But when he walked into the room he heard the bellowing from, there was a small man rocking back and forth on his bed, and only half dressed. He had a soft body, small compared to his grandfather, though nearly everyone was, and his hair fell into his tear stained face. Ludwig walked closer, hand on the hilt of his blade, figuring that this had to be some sort of cunning trap to kill him before the battle. This new one could be treacherous, but certainly no kin of Romulus could be so. . .weak.  
“Do you need help?” He asked, honestly hoping that this were a trap just so he could thwart it and have something exciting to do.  
“Um...Hello! I am Feliciano. It's nice to meet you-oh, why'd it have to be you?” He started looking up, and when he saw the card, he knew immediately who it was. The person who he'd been sitting there, sobbing in preemptive fear over was the one who had found him.  
“So you are the Jack?” He asked, thoroughly disappointed. “I guess I won't be getting that honor after all...”  
“I'm sorry. Big Brother was supposed to do all the fighting. I just made pasta and painted, and played with my friends. And then they tell me that I'm going to have to fight you, and you're so big and scary and I'm going to die, but Grandpa doesn't seem to care enough to negotiate...” He became more frantic as the speech continued, brown eyes red and puffy.  
“We don't usually fight to the death in The Battle, you know. At least, not when the victory is obvious. But I still don't see why your father would choose you, rather than just elevating a sacrifice. My brother did it, after all, and there are plenty of them who'd love the chance.” Ludwig sat down, his hand still on the pommel of his sword, but the other providing awkward comfort for his should be enemy.  
“It seems like he's killing off as many of his children as he can. First big brother, now me...and we don't even have a Queen, since Mama Serket died.”  
“I told you I wouldn't kill you, idiot.” Ludwig growled, waiting for the man to get it through his head. Or at least for him to stop crying.  
“But I can't just go home having lost. Grandpa would strip me like he did Big Brother. He even told me so. And I'd rather just die.”  
Ludwig didn't know what to say. He felt a pull to the little guy, but he was still an enemy. He was the child of Romulus, the man who'd given his father more scars that he could count, and the only one who could kill him. He didn't want him to start crying again, or to be as scared as he obviously was.  
“I'll think of something.” he told him, blushing furiously. Why did he care? He was known for his icy nature, and he was suddenly melting over an, admittedly cute, idiot who couldn't fight or even fake dignity. Gilbert would have a field day if he knew.

* * *

 

“Kiku, you have to stop staring at that mirror eventually.” Xiao Mei pouted, her long hair gathered up into a neat series of ties atop her head, pink ceremonial kimono wrapped around her petite frame.  
“I suppose.” He answered her, his voice monotone. It was nearly time for The Battle. He could feel it, the blood lust that came to the surface once a year. He was the king of diamonds, and he would be battling Antonio, who also seemed to have a bit of a split personality. He usually had a tomato in his hand, perhaps a guitar. But when The Battle came around, he wielded his ax as though it were simply an extension of himself. He still had nicks in his katana from last year, not to mention the scars. He slipped his white jacket on, ensuring that he looked as immaculate as his queen. He took her hand lightly, and started walking out, down the hallway, into the enormous dining chamber where everyone of import waited for him. His bickering brothers, both given the rank of Jack, and his father, Yao the Ace.  
“It took you long enough.” Yong spat, his braided hair being pulled by Yang, who seemed rather disinterested in what was happening around him.  
“Unless Father has a problem, I can take as long as I want.” Kiku reminded him, sitting but not eating or drinking. He'd had one too many poisoning attempts from the elder of the twins to trust anything he'd been around.  
“Come now, we're family. Let us act like it, even if you brats do hate each other. Batukhan, would you be so good as to bring us some fresh sake?” Their father said, trying to get them to get along. Their half sister, child of one of Yao's concubines, and the six of Diamonds scowled, getting up to do so. She was a better fighter than Mei, but she had no skill when it came to attending court, or dealing with Kiku's unique problem.  
“Thank you, Father.” The King said, sitting on his cushion, slightly higher than all but Yao's.  
“You're welcome, my boy. Tell me, are you ready? I think you may finally be strong enough to carry out our plan.” No one needed to expound on what exactly that plan was. They'd known it since Kiku was a little boy.  
The youngest, Wang, walked in, wheeling Kiku's mirror with him. The king didn't want to look into it. He didn't want to see the monster he would have to become. But his father's raised brow commanded it, and he stared into the liquid surface. White became black, and eyes of a boy tired beyond his years became dripping with blood they longed to spill. He clenched his jaw while his counterpart smiled, knowing it would be his turn soon.  
“Can I go now?” The frowning ten said, crossing his arms. He was supposed to be the king, Yao's favorite, until he'd help the joker boy escape. Still, the ace claimed it was only a phase, and that he would straighten out soon enough.  
“Be more respectful, runt.” Kiku growled, his katana sliding out of it's sheath with a hiss to land an inch from his little brother's throat.  
“Whatever.” Wang walked out, muttering about it being his brother's time of the month. Kiku blinked, and then gulped. He was unpredictable around this time, the second self trapped in the mirror starting to get comfortable in his body.  
“Control yourself, son. It won't get us anywhere if you start killing your own.” Yao warned, even he getting set off edge when his own creation came out.  
It had taken effort, and the lives of a few hundred people, but with the Joker boy's magic, he'd managed to split Kiku's heart in half. One which was gentle, quiet, and simply wanting to sit in the shade of a tree and read, the dominant personality. Then there was the one who stayed trapped in the mirror, who existed to be a weapon for the domination of the small world they lived in. It had backfired somewhat, the second having a habit of attacking his family, rather than just their enemies, but he'd been able to stand up to the demon that was Antonio of Clubs, so it was worth it.  
“Yes, Father.” Kiku said, staring at his hands and trying not to be afraid of his own reflection.


	3. To Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to march off to war, and everyone is having reservations.

“We don't go near The Battle, Francis. That's the rule.” Arthur told him, eating a piece of meat from the deer Francis had caught a day prior. While he'd been learning magic rather well, he still felt safer with a bow and a blade on his person, the corporeal weapons seeming far more reliable.  
“My brother is there, and I'm not watching that German muscle man kill him because of me. He left me in bandages every year, and Feliciano was never a fighter.” He made it clear that he'd not been making a suggestion when saying he was going to The Battle. It was only an invitation for Arthur to come with him. He cared not for rules or tradition—he'd already lived far longer than he should have expected when he decided to betray the Ace of Hearts.   
“There will be retaliation. There's no way you can just get away with disobeying the magic that rules this land. Maybe one of the weaker, conquered magics, but not this one. It's dark, and vengeful, and it won't take rebellion.” Arthur was whispering, as if that would keep the magic in the trees and grass from hearing them. Of course, if it wanted to bother listening, it wouldn't have mattered how low they spoke. Eyes and ears were in their very minds, souls, even, watching and listening to every thought or flight of fancy that came their way.  
“I don't care. I should be dead anyway. What's the worst that could happen?”   
“You could be taken as the sacrifice it fed on. It would slowly devour your life, your soul. You would die a thousand times over the period of a year, and your little brother would still die at Ludwig's hand.” Arthur couldn't admit that he'd grown to care for the buffoon. He was supposed to hate him, especially now when his tragedy was made increasingly obvious.   
“Not if I kill Ludwig first. And everyone else who I thought would succeed him.” he said it with enough cold certainty that Arthur grew scared. Before, he'd not been opposed to violence, trying every way he could think of to kill nothing more than the occasional deer, and even refusing to learn offensive magic for a while. But recently Francis seemed to have been looking for it, blood appealing to him in a way it shouldn't. He'd caught him arguing with the trees, shouting at fairies even he couldn't see. His father had done the same when they'd first arrived, but it had stopped, and he'd never got the scary glint in his eyes that Francis did. He wondered if their powers were really so different, and if somehow the markings on their chest were more than just tidings of their futures.   
“You can't just go around killing people with Places! You'll tear the world down around us, you moronic git!” Now he was sure that something was driving Francis insane. He laughed, the sound hollow and dark. Before, it had always been an amused chuckle if he thought something funny, or a guffaw when he thought something exceptionally hilarious, but this was more like the voice of nightmares, no emotions and certainly no compassion.  
“It will be beautiful, don't you think? I think that between the two of us, we could even beat the magic that rules. We could take over the realm, restore your own, make it a place worth living in, yes?” He licked his lips, as if he could taste the rebellious victory.   
“No. It gives us a portion of It's power to keep It's order. It would destroy us, and anyone else who tried to go against it. Trust me, my father and I tried.”   
“You're wrong, Arthur. It's weak. The trees tell me so. And I'll prove it. Show up to the Battle, and I'll prove to you how strong I am.” Arthur didn't want Francis to die, and he definitely didn't want to see the person who'd become the only break in his grief and loneliness die for insanity.   
“I'm not going to go and watch you die.” His voice cracked, a show of emotion he didn't want Francis to be aware of. In his bloodthirsty state, he might just take it for weakness, and Aurthur was afraid to find out what this power-mad version of his friend did to the weak.   
“I'm not going to die, Arthur. I'm going to save the world. Can't you feel how fragile everything is?” He held his hands out, shaking his fingers as if this should make it obvious, like he felt a frailty that no one else could.  
“No. The only thing fragile here is your sanity. You're a mad man, and you're going to end the world, not save it. Things are this way for a reason. I'm sorry.” He shot his hand out, a paralysis spell.   
What he didn't expect was for Francis to scowl, and a wall of fire to dissipate his magic. He'd never seen that happen before—even his own father hadn't been able to cut off the most powerful spell of a type he had. And neither could he, as the same magic hit him square in the chest.   
“I'm sorry it had to be this way, Arthur.” Francis bent down, gave him a kiss on the lips, and disappeared with a click of his fingers.

 

O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

“Dammit, hurry with the armor already.” Ludwig ordered, and the servant's shaking fingers started moving faster. He was in a terrible mood, nervous for The Battle and taking it out on those around him because he was the Jack, and there were only three people for whom it wasn't his right in the entirety of the nation. He wasn't worried that Feliciano would end up hurting him, but the opposite. He promised him that he'd figure something out, but The Battle was tomorrow, and he didn't have any ideas. His honor fought with his emotions, where he needed to impress his father and brother by winning, but he also had no desire to hurt the innocent child that was his opponent.   
He knew what he had to do, but he'd have to give up his entire life to do it. He had to take Feliciano, and run away—leave both of them running from their families, the magic that bound them, every rule they'd ever been told. They had to break the status quo, and hope that it wouldn't end in misery. He was planning how to sneak away when as he rode to the battle field, where serfs were already setting up tents and flags.   
But would sneaking really do anything? Would stealing away like thieves in the night do anything but have them looked for and innocent people killed in a futile search? No, he'd have to ensure that he made it clear exactly what was going on, and dare anyone who wanted to stop him. If anyone outside of his family tried, they'd be turned on, and they could get away in the chaos. And if his own family claimed his life...well he'd have to deal with those consequences. Anyone who would kill their own kin was no better than Romulus anyway, the monster he'd been bred to hate from the day he could understand speech.   
He talked with his brother as he did everytime they headed to The Battle. There were no reservations, no pride preventing them from saying just how much they loved each other, or the stories of when they were children. Only this time, rather than a vague worry than he would be felled by the Jack of Hearts, it was a certainty that he would never see Gilbert again, and, annoying as the asshole was, that was hurtful. It was his big brother, who had protected him when they were forced into The Battle as children, fighting off anyone who tried to harm him, especially Francis, who was an adult a few decades before even Gilbert. He still had a few dozen scars for his efforts, and he'd be who Ludwig would feel the most loss for.   
“I know you don't like to talk about it, but what would you do if I died?” He asked, under the guise of not knowing what tricks the new Jack had under his sleeve.   
“I'd have to keep doing my duty. But I'd miss you, little brother. I'd have to start being one of those boring kings who wore all black and never held parties. But this kid's a little pansy. You're not gonna die. I feel more sorry for that Asian dude. Antonio was really training this year.”   
“You shouldn't. You never looked good in black, and without partying, there's not much left to you. I don't think you know how to be serious.” Ludwig smiled at his brother, trying to pass it off as a joke but hoping that he would remember it when he was gone. He hated the thought of the spark of fun leaving his brother's red eyes, and black made him look ghostly with his pale complexion. 

…....................................................................................................................

Feliciano had nearly bitten his lip off as he rode with the party heading to The Battle rather than simply waving goodbye to them along with the children and disabled who stayed behind in the city. He was scared, and trying not to show it. This would normally be the part where Francis would pat him on the head, say it was going to be okay, and kill, or at least berate, whatever had frightened him. But there was no Francis, not anymore, and soon, one way or another, there would be no him either. Then his grandfather could take one of the Clubs, put them in his place, and seal the “alliance” that he'd been working on for years.   
He wondered if Romano would miss him much, or if he'd be happy to be rid of his cowardly brother, too close in appearance to keep him from being an annoyance when they were mixed up. The sword he'd been training with lay slightly less heavy in his arms than it had when he'd watched his big brother be maimed in the street, but he hardly held the grace or strength of Ludwig of Spades. Certainly not enough to beat him without suffering massive injury.   
And yes, Ludwig had promised him that he had a plan, and that he wouldn't let anyone hurt him after they'd spent three weeks getting to know each other in his father's castle, but no one in their right mind would give up a chance for glory, and possibly moving up in rank to King, rather than Jack, for someone they'd known in person for less than a month. And his reputation hardly held enough sway to top that balance for a warrior—he was known for paintings, and song, and being generally afraid of his own shadow if it weren't to frightened to appear.   
He'd written a note, and left it on his bed as all those who went to The Battle were told—it was only to be read upon news of death, and should they come back alive, they would burn it on a fire where a feast was cooked in celebration both of their survival and the honored dead. Those who gave their lives for what seemed useless other than to feed a tyrant who didn't even bother to allow himself to be seen by the people he held so firmly in his grasp.  
“What's wrong with you, Feliciano?” Romano asked, worried by the frown on his brother's normally grinning face. Yes, that optimistic smile got annoying sometimes, but it was better than his pale, shaky pursed expression.  
“I've never wondered about death before, Brother.” He answered, “But now suddenly, it's here, and I'm afraid it won't take kindly to strangers.” He gulped, trying to force a smile for the sake of his brother if nothing else.  
“You don't know that you're going to die. Maybe that potato bastard is all talk, or maybe you're secretly a bad ass and you just don't know it. You never know how things are going to work out, Feli.” He nudged his horse closer so that he could lock brown eyes with his own green, and whisper without their father hearing, “I won't let you die, anyway. Damn the rules. I'm not loosing my little brother to something this stupid.” Romano became frightened as well. He didn't want to lose his brother, but he'd also been told the same stories as everyone else—the horrible things that happened when someone didn't follow the rules.


	4. Now You Want Me One More Time

Romulus sat by the fire burning bright in the middle of the night, most of the men already passed out in their bed, or scattered among the ground if they were less fortunate, staring into the roaring flames. Anyone could sense that tomorrow would be more than just another sacrifice—the day that decided the fate of the entire world, whether the magic liked it or not. He'd felt the power waining, the connections to the other worlds growing stronger and waiting for the day when they gained their revenge. Absolute power had taken sacrifice, first Francis, his strongest son and soon to be his weakest. But in the end, his nation would rule, and the fighting could end. The ends justified any means, even if he didn't like them.  
He knew that Yao had been planning something for a while at this point, but no idea what. Something to do with that prodigious demon-son of his, most likely, since he seemed to have been getting even stronger as the years went by and everyone else grew weaker, the magic that kept them strong and resilient fading away. Of course the territory that had been annexed would attempt some sort of back-stab, especially given that his own son had tried to take his life on their behalf, and as always the Germans wouldn't care to cut his throat, no matter what wrath was incurred.  
Still, he couldn't help thinking that it something to do with the uneasy way that Feliciano and Ludwig weren't exactly uneasy when they were together. They were bitter rivals, chosen by fate to hate each other to the end of one of their days, when that hate would be replaced with another of his kin. But they had even been seen walking around, seeming relaxed, his boy laughing while Ludwig actually looked as young as he was for once, rather than the thick stress creases staying between his brow. A smirk was rumored, but in the three centuries he'd been around the child, he'd never seen so much as a grimace.  
Feliciano didn't seem to be the evil mastermind sort, but he didn't think that his most loyal son would be the one who carried out a Spade's plot against his father—the entirety of his family, really. He was too afraid if nothing else. Scared of the life that awaited one who did as he was forbidden. Francis never had that fear, always asking questions, rather than just accepting that there were only two options: obey, or die; but Feliciano wasn't like that—upon hearing the horrifically painful consequences, he gladly ducked, hid, and did as he was told.  
Not knowing what to think, he downed another glass of wine, looking with moderate anxiety at the tent where Romano and Feliciano were sound asleep, preparing for battle. The question being: a battle against whom?

…...........................................................

Ludwig couldn't sleep, even with the comforting presence of his brother beside him, warm body snoring loudly in a cacophonous lullaby that had always sent him straight into restful oblivion before now. But with his plans for the next day, each inhale seemed an accusation, and each exhale a sound of utter betrayal. Soldiers walking by set his nerves on edge, as if they knew his traitorous intentions and were there to place a dagger in his back before he could put a more metaphoric one in that of the only people he'd ever cared for in exchange for a feeling he was unable to fight and a man he barely knew.  
His heart hammered in his chest like a hummingbird who had been placed in a small caged, trying to break free and hopefully smack some sense into him before he went against every ounce of reasoning he could muster. There was nothing special about the boy—he was an idiot, one who couldn't fight, nor could he argue with skill and grace as his father could. He was a good cook, a painter, a singer—he performed the roles of a woman, and Ludwig suspected that he had become attracted to him as one as well. He wanted to wrap the smaller man up in his arms, and protect him from anything. Take a hundred lashes from Romulus' deadly whip if it meant keeping him safe, and he had absolutely no idea why. Gilbert said it was fate that had placed him and Elizabeta together, and he could only hope that much the same was what had brought him to his new purpose in life—his only friend.  
…............................................

Mae hated Kiku when he was like this. She tried to help him; make him food, because he looked a little thin; shine his sword because it was growing dull in all the blood he spilled, anyone who got in his way meeting the cold steel edge; even telling him to stop, because she knew that when he came back to himself, he would hate what he'd done and the person he'd become. Then came the blasphemies, saying that he didn't care what the rules said, because he couldn't be under his father's maniacal thumb anymore, though she supposed that was better than the idea of finding him covered in his own blood. The first time the experiment had worked, she'd discovered his body, barely breathing, with his sword through his heart, a note telling her that he couldn't live with the needless death he'd caused.  
She had ridden next to him in terrified silence as they made their way to The Battle, his eyes nearly glowing with anticipation of the blood to be spilled. She had long since gotten used to it, averting her eyes, and keeping quiet until he could see sense again. Until all of this was over. For just that purpose, the mirror was brought along, holding in it the better half of her husband's soul. So he didn't love her, a fact she'd known from the start. She loved him, and he treated her much better than he had to when he wasn't like this, and she hated to see him in pain. To see the him that she loved more than anything banging on the other side of enchanted glass, desperatley trying to break free.  
She had long since chosen her loyalties, and now it was time to show them. The genocide that Yao planned wouldn't be done by Kiku's hand—if she had to be the first death, so long as she was the only, she would die happily, knowing that she saved the man she loved from destroying himself.

….....................  
Francis watched them all, saw the familiar fires crackling, the sound of stones grinding swords and axes to fine points, all the better for stabbing or slicing, only now he felt something else. Something more than the jitters and adrenaline that came with The Battle. He could feel the magic looming over this place, waiting for it's prey, to absorb life force after starving for so long. He knew that the time was close—when it was weak like this, it couldn't defend itself. It have a set amount of magic to the Jokers when it began, but before the battle, it was at its weakest, and its own creations would be more powerful. This plan would work out much better if Arthur had been willing to join him, but he was confidant that Arthur wasn't needed for victory. He had grown much stronger since he started listening to the forest around him. Especially the little fairies that inhabited the trees. They had whispered spells to him in the night, and tips on how to excecute them in the day.  
He never understood why they were afraid of Arthur though, as the absolutely refused to speak with him, but he was thankful for their help nonetheless. Their small bodies ranged from green to violet in color, and he wondered how it was they were able to know so much, when he'd seen a few of them die, aging completely in only a few weeks. Precious things they were though, never getting angry or impatient with him, and never being upset that he still carried his sword, and practised with it, understanding the comfort it brought him.  
“Yes, I know that it could throw the plan off.” He told the fairy closest to him, walking down to the hearts encampment, “But Feliciano needs to know I'm here for him.”  
You should know better than to risk the plan for something so simple as a child's comfort. They never spoke to him, not that he could hear with his ears. It was always telepathic, maybe being why Arthur never heard them, and he never heard the ones that talked to Arthur.  
“Listen, he won't tell anyone, and he's probably so scared he'll think it's a hallucination.” he argued, still walking down the hill he had stayed on until dark.  
Fine. But he won't thank you when this doesn't work and that giant of a German runs a sword through him.  
“I'll never let that happen. I'd kill the bastard myself, plan or not. He may have won most of the time when it was purely physical, but I have magic now, and he doesn't.” Francis was whispering as he drew closer, and then put his finger to his lip in gesture for silence. The fairy didn't seem amused, considering it was always quiet, and he was the one who had to be trained not to fly through the forest like a rhino.  
Francis deftly avoided the sentries, casting simple spells to make him blend in with the shadows cast by various torches, lining the makeshift walls of sharpened sticks. With this, he was able to levitate right over them, and search around the tents. He saw old friends, and people he never recognized, though he hardly associated much with the general army to begin with. He saw Romulus sitting in front of the main fire, and resisted the urge to stab him in the back here and now—he was an important part of the day's ceremony tomorrow, after all, and had to be alive until then, in spite of what the Joker may want.  
After peering through various tents, he finally found what he was looking for, and cursed when he saw that it had Romano in it as well. It wasn't that he didn't love his other brother as well, it was just that he wouldn't accept the fact that he'd become a joker and was coming to save him. Nor would he be able to keep quiet, having always been one to talk far to loud without realizing it. Then again, he was also always a much heavier sleeper, so maybe he could sneak in?  
“Feli...Feli!” Francis shook the smaller boy's shoulders, trying to wake him while being as quiet as possible. When he opened his eyes, He saw a man he thought was dead with a finger pressed to his lips in an order to be silent. He nodded, tears in his eyes, and stood, his nightgown falling to his knees as he followed his brother from the tent to an empty space in the camp, mostly asleep at this late hour.  
“I thought you were dead!” Feliciano said, latching onto his brother the first chance he got. “How...I took your place, I know I did!”  
“Look at my chest, Feli.” He ordered, prying his younger brother off of him and opening his cloak with a grin. “I'm a Joker now.”  
“But...” Feliciano got a scared look, “You can't be here! The rules forbid it. You know what happens to people who break the rules.”  
“There won't be anymore rules. The Magic made them because it's weak around this time. I'm stronger, Feliciano. I'll beat it tomorrow at The Battle, and prove it to you. I'm not letting that blonde bastard hurt my baby brother.” He didn't see why Feliciano didn't trust him. He'd never let him down before, after all.  
“Y-you're not Francis...” He said, fear flashing in his eyes. Blue eyes that had once been bright were darker, and the whites were covered in red veins, and then rimmed with dark purple. His skin was even paler than before, and his previously luxurious hair seemed wiry when Feliciano stopped to look at it. This was a ghost, and a mad one.  
“You don't believe me...I understand. Arthur didn't either, after I told him of what we could accomplish. But don't worry, you'll see tomorrow. Just make sure you don't tell anyone, especially Romulus, okay?” He frowned, disliking that Feli didn't trust him, but deciding that there was nothing to be done about it now.  
He pressed a finger to his forehead, and the brunette man slumped into the Joker's arms. He carried the small form back, and sneaked away to await the hills to wait for the start of The Battle.


End file.
